Obscure Sorrows At Hogwarts: A Drabble Collection
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: A collection of Harry Potter drabbles in response to John Koenig's "Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows". Particular focus on Severus Snape.
1. Chapter I: Xeno

**OBSCURE SORROWS AT HOGWARTS**

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**DRABBLE PROMPT 001: XENO**

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_**The smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.**_

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Staircase number 42- or 45? Snape had lost count, but it certainly joined the fifth floor Charms and Transfiguration classrooms. Or was it the seventh?

At the top, he allowed himself a grim sigh as moonlight illuminated thousands of dust motes. Argus Filch always swore he cleaned up here, but nobody believed him.

He sneezed- just stifling the sound in time. What was worse than dust? Silence. Hogwarts' silence, unknown to man or beast, clogged his ears. Even at night, he ought to have heard Filch's shuffling and wheezing, or pranksters giggling, or Peeves hooting with laughter.

Not tonight.

For a few moments, he stared at the owls outside as they disappeared into the gloom.

What was the Chamber of Secrets to them?

The burden always fell on his shoulders, one way or another. Either he survived tonight by the skin of his teeth, or... Wouldn't it be curious, to see Professor Snape, the Potions Master, sprawled on the ground tomorrow morning?

When the chill in his bones had dissipated somewhat, he walked down the corridor. Peering into classroom after classroom, he could not decide whether the total lack of movement comforted or disturbed him more. _Squeak, click._ Nothing in this classroom. _Squeak, click._ Nobody in the other.

And yet thousands of students slept nearby.

Shutting the final classroom door, he was just about to ascend to the next floor when a pale light glowed behind him.

"_Who_ is-?!"

"Calm down, Severus: it's me."

"Minerva! What-?" He took a step back, glad the moonlight couldn't expose his quivering hands.

"Nothing to report. I'm going up." She hurried past him.

"Ah, it was my intention to-"

"Beds are outside the Hall," she said firmly. "Hagrid's snores should deter the monster, I'd say."

Before he could answer, she had run up the next staircase.

Snape stared at her retreating back for a while. Then, with an imperceptible nod, he left for the Great Hall.

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	2. Chapter II: Nodus Tollens

**DRABBLE PROMPT 002: NODUS TOLLENS**

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_**The realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don't understand, that don't even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.**_

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_Mr, Fletcher, where is the answer to Question 5?_

Professor Snape, lips sewn together, paused to replenish his quill. _"Grade T. See me for detention tomorrow."_

That should be enough marking for tonight, though a pile of essays teetering off the edge of his desk might object. Usually, the rhythm drowned out every recent disaster, and he could categorise his thoughts with each precise comment. Now, the task, so close to the summer holidays, felt like concrete on his back.

_"Order of Merlin, Second Class, I'd say. First class if I can wangle it!"_

Snape's hands curled into trembling fists. Gone. Dead. Just like every other dream. Never would he sit in triumph, watching Potter hang his head in shame, watching the Gryffindors wishing they might trade their precious Quidditch Cup in return for a similar award.

He slammed a fist on the table.

Had he not earned this? Potter, Weasley... that dastardly Granger- all would have _died_ without him! Yet no congratulations, not even so much as an extra bottle of single malt whisky. In what universe could his bravery go unrewarded, his survival unnoticed, his injuries unhealed? Anybody else would be swimming in glory, babbling in front of the Ministry, the _Prophet_, the School...

Yet reckless boys who circumvented protection, rules, order-

What had he done wrong? The Marauders' Map- perhaps he ought to have feigned ignorance... Or not threatened Lupin... No, he ought not have yelled at Potter in front of Dumbledore and, worse, Fudge.

Yet could they deny-?

_Knock, knock._

"Yes?"

His heart lifted. Who would come to visit him at 9pm, unless to- Someone must have changed their mind, have rushed here to fix the terrible wrong that- A reward- a reward!- surely must be overdue-

Straightening up in his chair, he folded both hands.

"Please come in."

The door creaked open. "Begging your pardon, Sir-"

It was Filch.

"Fight on fourth floor, Severus, couple of Slytherins: Tagworth, Bumble, Chook-"

"-Not now, Argus. I'm working."

"Begging your pardon, Sir."

The door clanged shut, and with it, the heroic ending that Snape would never read.

He'd have to write his own.

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	3. Chapter III: Apokarysmenophobia

**DRABBLE PROMPT 003: APOKARYSMENOPHOBIA**

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**_Fear that your connections with people are ultimately shallow, that although your relationships feel congenial at the time, an audit of your life would produce an emotional safety deposit box of low-interest holdings and uninvested windfall profits, which will indicate you were never really at risk of joy, sacrifice or loss._**

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The Gryffindor Common Room: a solace for all weary souls. Lily Evans dropped her bag and slumped into an armchair, ready for everlasting sleep.

_BAM!_

Her eyes flew open as James and Sirius stomped in a mere seconds later.

"Shh," she said, rubbing her forehead. Subtlety, what the Marauders needed was a dash of subtlety.

"Lily! God, your hair's static! Just the person. I need your advice."

His expectant expression caught her off guard; forgetting her annoyance, she smiled. What was an interruption, a headache, and an impending mound of homework compared to respect, value, and consultation?

"Oh! But of course, anything you need. I was just tired from-"

"-It's time isn't it? I think so. Padfoot agrees. Given current circumstances..." James paced the room, frowning. "Best possible defence against him. No other choice. You agree, Padfoot?"

"Agreed before you said a word."

Huh? Lily stared from one to another as James continued to predict the circumstances, pose a counter-argument, attack it from all sides, cause it to surrender, stabbed it in the back, and decided on the only outcome. Yes: absolutely no choice. He had considered it, pondered it, lost many a night's sleep over it. Padfoot had agreed it- right, Padfoot? Absolutely right.

Agreed what? Far be it from the Marauders to speak English, let alone translate. What Sirius had to do with this sparring conversation puzzled her, but she remained silent in the hope that James would address her clearly and with particular interest. Five months of dating deserved half as much, after all.

"So, Lily. You see the situation. You know the stakes. The Marauders must be trademarked with the Ministry, right?"

She blinked. "Trademark? The _Marauders_?"

"Those Death Eaters will never know what hit them. Oh yes- you get my meaning. _Ex- pelliarmus!_ Or worse...! I hate to jump to conclusions, but just say the word and it's done."

"I, uh, I see." She leaned back in her chair with deflated shoulders.

James nodded, smiling. "Excellent. The forms come Monday. Thanks, Lily!"

In a matter of seconds, he had swooped down, kissed her forehead... and vanished through the Entrance.

Sirius now rubbed his hands, eyes shining. "I tell you, we have struck gold!"

"It- It would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	4. Chapter IV: Nementia

**DRABBLE PROMPT 004: NEMENTIA**

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_**The post-distraction effort to recall the reason why you're feeling particularly anxious or angry or excited, in which you retrace your sequence of thoughts like a kid wandering across the neighborhood gathering the string of a downed kite.**_

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Twigs cracked under Severus' feet as he tiptoed up the hill. Now, if this didn't work, then- Swallowing, he took another ill-advised step. He might be the only one in the world foolish and determined enough to apologise to Lily Evans without feeling any remorse.

Well, Petunia started it! Mum's blouse, how dare she, the little-! A broken shoulder should teach her a lesson.

But when he glanced up at Lily again, standing so serenely at the top of Coker's Hill, his knees trembled.

Alright, perhaps if she realised his skill in non-verbal spells- No. Not a chance. For heaven's sake, she might never wish to see him again! _Go away, Severus,_ she would say. _Why are you so nasty? Why d'you bully Tuney? Do you bully everyone else?_

He scurried up the hill, his cloak trailing behind.

"Severus!"

"Look, it was a mistake, alright? I was, er, angry, and- Look, she's probably exagg-" He brushed his sweaty forehead with an equally sweaty hand. "It's not broken, is it? I promise _you_ that I'll never even-"

Pleas and oaths failed him as Lily shook her head, staring at the ground.

"Tuney's alright. I sorted it. She won't tell Mum."

Sorted? He blinked. _Sorted?_

But this morning, he had trembled over lumpy oats as he agonised over whether to apologise. Stumbled along Tinpot Lane, rehearsing his excuses whilst fearing her retorts. In Cokeworth Park, he had just wandered around, memorising every spot they had visited in case she never spoke to him again.

And now... nothing. Just him and Lily, standing together, alone. On top of the world.

"Tuney isn't a bad person, Sev. Honest. You understand? Yes? Good. I need you to believe that."

Biting his lip, he nodded.

But when Lily stared into the distance, hair blowing lightly in the wind, he smiled.

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	5. Chapter V: Lethobenthos

**DRABBLE PROMPT 005: LETHOBENTHOS**

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_**The habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person, making you wish your day would begin with a "previously on" recap of your life's various plot arcs, and end with "to be continued…** _

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Finally, Lily heard the footsteps and giggles. She smiled, too: Mary and Jo had the food. Chicken and steak pies, carrot cake... Her mouth watered. And thanks to bribing a 3rd year earlier, she had 3 bottles of raspberry cordial. Much better than stealing, and far less chance of detention.

"Done," said Mary, illuminated by moonlight. "Outside, then? We could-"

A chorus of laughter from nowhere. Lily trembled, fearing the bottles might slip from her hands. Definitely not a Professor, but who wouldn't hear that cackling?

"Who was that?" she whispered.

Jo giggled again. "Just James and Sirius. No big deal. Let's go."

A door slammed somewhere. Evidently, the Dynamic Duo had their own plans tonight. But creeping down the corridor with stolen food and poor coordination didn't calm Lily's conscience, despite no further disturbance.

Until-

Jo gasped. "Who's there?"

Disaster. What now? Lily froze as Jo lit her wand. An eerie white light seeped from the tip revealing... a Professor? No- a boy with black hair, wheezing as he crept along the wall.

"Ugh," said Mary.

"Severus!"

Jo nudged her rib. "Are you serious?"

Forgetting detentions, points, and pies, Lily broke away from her friends, smiling. "What on _earth_ are you doing?"

"I- I heard a noise," Severus said, glancing behind him.

"Ah, that was us. Where've you been these past few weeks?" She barely heard Severus' mumbled response, too cheerful for an explanation. "Listen, we're having a feast! Join us! We have everything good: fresh pies, delicious..."

Severus stared past her shoulder, then at the ground. In better light, Lily ought to have seen the signs, but after 4 weeks she had either forgotten them or was blinded by hope. Nor did she notice Mary and Jo's palpable contempt anymore. No, she had positive signs to enjoy: his improved colour (must be the meals), his having less of a slouch, his chin barely visible...

"Not hungry."

"What?"

"I have to sleep, goodnight." He scurried off before she could say a word.

"Well!" Jo flicked off her wand. "There's gratitude for you. Come on."

"He's just shy..."

Mary snorted. "Creeps always pretend to be shy."

Mercifully, Lily never heard that remark. She trailed behind, bottles in hand, replaying her encounter with Severus and waiting for the next episode.

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	6. Chapter VI: Deep Cut

**DRABBLE PROMPT 006: DEEP CUT**

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**_An emotion you haven't felt in years that you might have forgotten about completely if your emotional playlist hadn't been left on shuffle—a feeling whose opening riff tugs on all your other neurons like a dog on a leash waiting for you to open the door._**

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Before every wedding comes a pile of post, most of which lands in the bin. Great was Lily's astonishment, then, to find James poring over this insipid pile one morning.

"Are you mad?" she asked, pouring herself some tea. "I doubt half these people'll write to us after."

Half, meaning the additional 200 people James had invited, including Ministry officials. Heaven knew how he found their details, nor why 9-time divorcee Augustus Tipsle had agreed to attend. Put together, she knew less than a quarter of these guests.

"Hey, listen to this," said James, smiling at a lengthy epistle, "Miss Webbington Truckle wants to know which Hair Volume Charm you used on the _Prophet_."

Grabbing a few slices of bread, she said, "Miss Collagen's 550% Expanding Charm- but who cares?"

No need to add that James had booked the photo shoot 3 weeks before proposing, complete with hundreds of journalists ready to misrepresent her words. According to Monica Skeeter, Lily thought James was a shooting star and she'd kill Voldemort within weeks.

"Want cinnamon?"

"Please. Oh, by the way, Fred says no almond in his cake. Allergic."

Tragedy: she had _longed_ for a triple layer Bakewell Tart wedding cake, stuffed with almonds. Oh wait, that had been James' idea...

Shaking her head, she cracked more eggs than necessary and poured in cumin rather than cinnamon. Despite the inflated guest list, she had snatched a few victories. Only friends and family afterwards, candles to remind her of Hogwarts. No droning speeches, and under no circumstances should Sirius transform into Padfoot as a prank, regardless of how funny James found the idea.

"Strange..."

In the middle of whisking, Lily turned. "What?"

"_Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials._" James turned the letter over, but it was blank. "Unsigned. Atrocious paper- lazy bum. This a friend of yours?"

"I thought these were _yours_," she said through tight lips.

"No, this one's addressed to you. Look-"

Lily's mouth went dry. That handwriting... So many years and she'd know that nervous scrawl anywhere; the crooked "t", the curled "r". She had watched it crawl across fresh parchment on many an afternoon, believing she had discovered one of life's simplest pleasures. Closing her eyes briefly, she heard the scratching, muttering, rustling of pages. A lost ray of sun, a gentle smile, so many things unsaid...

"Know who it is?"

"I- I have no idea."

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	7. Chapter VII: Gnossienne

**DRABBLE PROMPT 007: GNOSSIENNE**

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**_A moment of awareness that someone you've known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you've never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand._**

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_Frogspawn... lacewing flies... scaled dragon hide..._

Frowning, Harry squeezed these words onto slips of parchment, then glued them onto bottles. 1 hour had passed, still 65 labels to go. Breathe so much as a sigh of dissent and Professor Snape, currently pacing the room, would surely increase his punishment.

He ought to have known by now that laughing as Neville vomited onto Snape's shoes earlier would earn him a detention. After all, vomit could be cleaned, but laughter had to be suppressed.

62 labels to go. Well, he was making progress, even with raw knuckles; Snape had demanded that he scrub the floor.

"Handwriting, Potter, or you start again."

Harry chewed his tongue, but changed his scrawl to cursive.

"Of course," said Snape, his robes billowing behind him, "you cannot help inheriting your disobedience and carelessness. I recall your father wrote like a monkey, too."

_Snap!_ The broken quill nib skittered across the table.

"10 points from Gryffindor for damaging school property."

Another quill dropped onto his desk. Harry began writing again, but without care.

58 labels to go.

"You don't know anything about my father," he said, though he knew otherwise.

Snape's lip twisted, knowing he had struck home.

"And- and my mother would have been appalled by your-"

_"Silence!"_

The bottles trembled as Snape swooped over them. Some hurled themselves off the table, spattering their contents onto the floor. An hour's work wasted, yet Harry did not retrieve them- could not. Snape's gaze... It had transfixed him. Those glittering black eyes, those white, _white_ fingers...

"You will never speak to me like that again, or I will ensure the rest of your overrated life is a _mi- se- ry_! Do... you... _understand_?!"

"Y-Y-Yes... S-Sir..."

Then Snape returned to pacing the room, as though nothing had happened. Harry sat frozen in his chair, eyes following black robes as they swished to and fro. He had seen- What had he seen? A murky corridor, a hidden door, a padlock... So close he could almost reach it, while knowing he would never succeed.

Professor Snape- or someone else.

"Get on with your work."

Shaking, Harry picked up his quill and started again.

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	8. Chapter VIII: Dead Reckoning

**DRABBLE PROMPT 008: DEAD RECKONING**

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**_To find yourself bothered by someone's death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift._**

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_"Dear Diary,_

_Professor Snape died yesterday. In fact, he might be sitting in a portrait now. How strange."_

Hermione paused for more ink, or perhaps to stifle a gasp as she recalled fangs piercing Snape's skin, the spread of poisoned green veins, the seizures... And then nothing.

Outside her window, twilight stole across the sky, covering the many unclaimed dead. A low howling still rang in her ears: it was a grieving chorus, creeping up the walls, whispering in the breeze. And somehow, it brought into sharp relief the one death that nobody had mourned.

_"I don't think the revelation made any difference. Ron said he could rot, love or none. Professor McGonagall seems grey, but wears that tight-lipped expression that will brook no dissent. The rest? Nothing. As for me, I..."_

Here, her thoughts failed her again. Oh, she could well recall sitting in Snape's dungeon, enduring his sneers and insults. Sometimes, she had paused whilst writing his fiendishly difficult essays (not that she ever admitted such), wondering why she even bothered. He never gave her the marks she had deserved. By all rights, she should hate the mention of his name.

But then, she considered Harry, who had spent all night facing a stone wall. Everything he had believed was a lie. The man he had hated was full of love.

She leaned back in her chair, letting the quill slip from her grasp. So this was caring, the kind Snape had known. Mindlessly thinking of another person when they thought nothing of you. Cowering under the unpayable debt she and Hogwarts owed to Snape. Who could fathom it?

_"I'm sorry- no, grieved- that he never achieved his goal, but..."_ Her faded eyes lit up briefly: she stood with fresh resolve. _"...if he's in the Headmaster's Office, I'll let him know... I'll let him know we won."_

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	9. Chapter IX: Rigor Samsa

**DRABBLE PROMPT 009: RIGOR SAMSA**

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**_A kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine._**

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Snape watched Professor Slughorn stride into the Staff Room and plop into an armchair.

Typical.

The new Potions Master, allegedly returned from retirement, had already plundered the Staff Room supply of tangerines and boiled sweets, left books hanging off tables, claimed at least 10 clothes pegs, and kept stealing quills.

For some reason, the others expected Snape to confront him. In fact, he had no wish to arouse Slughorn's displeasure any more than he had done whilst studying under the man. Call it cowardice, but he had far more important problems. Would any such advice even make Slughorn change?

"Met old Jack Tweedle this morning," Slughorn said. "Remember him?"

He shook his head, although Tweedle had attended his NEWT class 4 years ago.

"Fine old chap, completely wasted in Wales. No idea why the Wand Org chucked him there. Wrote 5 complaints to Hornsworth. I taught him in '72, he ought to know better..."

Perhaps Hornsworth had discovered that Tweedle did not possess glowing grades, contrary to Slughorn's effusive recommendation.

"You know, when Dumbledore offered me this job, I was a tad hesitant. Crop of students isn't as illustrious these days. Nobody's beaten the likes of Applebottom, Corning, Tittlebat- remember them? Ah, before your time..."

Slughorn plucked a tangerine from its bowl, admiring the peel as though he could see all 3 students reflected inside. "Great minds..."

Tittlebat, former Head of Revenue Collection, had been sacked last month for bribery and fraud. He owed the Ministry 50 000 Galleons.

"But this set astonish me," said Slughorn around a morsel. "Mostly Slytherins- but also Gryffindors. You know Miss Granger- brilliant, and a Muggle-born, too! Not that I care about that sort of thing..."

Snape's arms went tense.

"Astonishing all the same. Last time I met a Muggle-born like that was back in _your_ time. Remember poor Lily Evans?"

"Excuse me!" Snape rose, his hands shaking. "I- I have a meeting."

"Oh! Don't let me stop you. I just thought-"

But Snape never discovered what Slughorn had just thought, for in two quick steps, he left. When outside, he leaned against the post for a moment or two.

And then, just like the snail in his shell or the beetle in his case, Snape's own mask of steel eventually returned.

In the end, it always would.

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_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	10. Chapter X: Liberosis

**DRABBLE PROMPT 010: LIBEROSIS**

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**_The desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play._**

* * *

_Rook takes Bishop. _

Studying next to another Harry vs Ron chess game was proving nigh impossible, but Hermione had no choice. Other Gryffindors had claimed all the good seats. Every so often she had to shift her book aside to make room for sharp elbows, drinks, bags, and more.

At least this arrangement beat studying in queues for class whilst jostled by other students, or sitting on the icy floor of the girls' toilets with only a candle for company.

Rune Translations were far harder than she thought. But no matter. By hook or by crook, she would complete the next 30 pages before bed. And then, if still awake, she would add a few more paragraphs to her Potions essay. In fact, owing to last night's reading, she might as well rewrite the whole thing. Surely even Snape would give her high marks for researching the history of 13th century Swelling Potions?

"-checkmate!"

_Rook takes Queen. _

She frowned at Ron, not that he noticed. Didn't he have a Charms essay due tomorrow?

Imagine if she dropped all these books for a couple of games? Well, then she would forget how to translate the imperfect subjunctive. Forget all her research into Swelling Potions, forget the additional reading she did on transfiguring lizards for tomorrow's lesson.

See? No time whatsoever for chess, or hot chocolate, or relaxing by the fire...

"-checkmate!"

_Wild cheers for Ron. Congratulations. Offers of free Butter Beer next weekend. _

"Oh, come off it," said Harry. "I wasn't concentrating, I could _easily_ have-"

"Rematch?"

"You're on!"

_Cheers again. _

Hermione sighed, and turned another page.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	11. Chapter XI: Daguerrologue

**DRABBLE PROMPT 011: DAGUERROLOGUE**

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_**An imaginary interview with an old photo of yourself, an enigmatic figure who still lives in the grainy and color-warped house you grew up in, who may well spend a lot of their day wondering where you are and what you're doing now, like an old grandma whose kids live far away and don't call much anymore.**_

* * *

_Crack!_ Sirius' boot broke through a step, leaving a mass of splinters and muffled squeaks in his wake. That the Most Noble House of Black had succumbed to rats did not disturb him, however. In parading their blood supremacist doctrines, the Black family had far exceeded vermin.

Indeed, the House had shown its true colours in his absence: peeling wallpaper spun into circles by spiders, and exposed mould stains underneath.

Shivering, he crept up the remaining stairs. Where was it? A few bedroom doors, ominously left ajar, beckoned to him. Surely the faded red door to his right... With a grimace, he pushed it open with a clammy fist. The wood felt follow, just like his heart.

There: a picture, imprisoned within a rotting frame stood on the bedside table. Inside, a boy with hair like a terrier, swayed to and fro. Could it be...? Sirius advanced with outstretched fingers as though he might conjure this boy into reality.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, coming to a halt. "Nothing's changed- except you'll be a dog in a few years. That might help, seeing as you resemble one."

The boy merely glared and continued swaying.

"Oh, and after is Azkaban. You'll be a true juvenile delinquent- how does that feel?" Sirius cracked a smile, but it soon vanished into darkness. His wrists still bore bruises from those cold, oily manacles...

"But you've seen nothing yet. What's worse than prison? Betrayal. Have you known anything similar? It will eat into your very bones, mark my words."

The boy paused, but his eyes showed no sign of comprehension.

"And more than betrayal, what of losing a friend, a brother?" Sirius whispered, stepping closer. "Boy, tell me: how will you survive?"

While Sirius shook from head to toe, the boy wrapped his arms around his sunken chest and continued swaying.

He might already have died.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	12. Chapter XII: Keyframe

**DRABBLE PROMPT 012: KEYFRAME**

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_**A moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life- set in motion not by a series of jolting epiphanies but by tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next. **_

* * *

To be quite honest, Lily did not think the damp Quidditch pitch and November frost boded well for Gryffindor's chances against Slytherin. However, she was wise enough to say nothing, and simply nod as student after student predicted resounding victory. After all, Slytherin had, for unknown reasons, changed Seeker at the last minute.

Apparently, Thompson was hexed last night. James had told a jubilant Common Room that Heidelberg had "Jelly Legs" and would be Confunded within minutes. A tasteless joke, but since when did James care for taste?

"So, Miss Lily," said a first-year, clutching Galleons. "10 says James'll get the Snitch in 5. You game?"

"No, thanks," she said. Dumbledore ought to clamp down on frivolous bets like these, but he always dismissed her concerns with an indulgent smile.

Shrugging, the boy returned to more eager friends, who placed 20 on 3 minutes, plus a stack of Chocolate Frogs. Anything above- too risky. Money changed hands, oaths were taken. Why such idiotic solemnity over one player?

Her answer arrived, chatter melting into applause as James Potter appeared. Sirius lay to his left, Remus to his right, and Peter whimpered at his coat tails. All he needed were some trumpets and drummers to complete the image of Emperor. Perhaps acknowledging this, James smirked to all, bowed- even shook hands with the same first-years he enjoyed hexing in his spare time. Lily found herself smiling in hostile amazement.

"Morning, Evans!"

For sure, James may not have expected a civil reply, but his smile betrayed such confidence that Lily's face twitched. By the time she had realised her mistake, it was too late. The moment- it _was_ a moment- passed, and the crowd floated after him chanting, _"Gryffindor! Gryffindor!"_

It was nothing. Her stomach might flutter, but it was nothing.

Only tomorrow, the same would happen again.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_If you enjoy Severus Snape fanfiction, you will be a welcome member at the AlwaysSnape fan community. Come join us!_


	13. Chapter XIII: Anchorage

**DRABBLE PROMPT 013: ANCHORAGE**

* * *

_**The desire to hold on to time as it passes, like trying to keep your grip on a rock in the middle of a river, feeling the weight of the current against your chest while your elders float on downstream, calling over the roar of the rapids, "Just let go—it's okay—let go."**_

* * *

The night wind whipped Remus' hair as he stumbled towards the Forbidden Forest. Laughter floated in and out of his ears in a chorus of discordant notes.

On any other night, he would have joined in. This time, white hot pain paralysed the back of his neck. It had begun. A raw scream was ripped from his throat as his skin began to sizzle.

The laughter continued— not mocking, but pregnant with anticipation. Then a bark, the steady rhythm of hooves… If only he could see the transformation!

Tears flowed from his eyes as one leg froze, then another. Could he pause the transformation, if only for a minute? Claw back dignity from the jaws of his curse?

The ripping of his trousers said otherwise, new thighs bulging through the gaps. Now his hands swelled, fingers growing bristles and the nails hardening into claws.

Just one more minute-!

"—Come on, Remus! Let go—"

"—we're nearly there—"

With his hind legs shaking, but still planted in the ground, Remus raised his new head to the new moon.

Time had run out again.


	14. Chapter XIV: Ambedo

**DRABBLE PROMPT 014: AMBEDO**

* * *

_**A kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.**_

* * *

So.

Hermione, having fled to the Library instead of a Charms lesson, stomped towards a shelf and yanked five volumes out at the same time.

Ron and Lavender insisted on snogging in the Common Room— and everywhere else. Alright. _Thunk!_ All five volumes hit the nearest window desk, followed by a softer thump as she dropped into the chair. So be it.

_Lumos._ Five candles illuminated the window desk, while the wind screeched in pain outside. Her breathing slowed somewhat when she flicked open the first cover, but her signature sense of anticipation at the beginning of a new book never came.

Instead, Hermione's fingers trailed along the inside cover, relishing every bump and ridge in the paper. The book, with its hard cover like an oak door, smelled like burning spices— homely and sweet, like the author's inscription to his deceased wife.

Hermione might have smiled, but the memory of Ron and Lavender glued together in an alcove made that smile droop.

Another page was covered in engravings of wizards jabbing each other's chests with wands. They could have been drawn on a chalkboard, each line so deceptively simple and yet also full of layers.

_Angry? Eager for revenge? Using ancient mind control spells, learn to harness your anger and defeat enemies. Augustus The Mad will teach you…_

Hermione lost focus at that point, head resting against her palm as she observed ravens swooping over Hogwarts' turrets. The night grew darker like indigo ink spilling across a blank page.

Indeed, she was a blank page, the softest vellum ready for printing. A quill hovered above it, full of a thousand words. Yet with one careless stroke, ink drops spattered across it, spoiling the surface.

Ink drops remarkably close to…

…tears.


	15. Chapter XV: Heartworm

**DRABBLE PROMPT 015: HEARTWORM**

* * *

_**A relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.**_

* * *

Though Hermione and Ron stood half a metre above the crowd, the distance in her head could have been higher.

Surrounded by expectant faces chatting under a halo of candles, her stomach heaved as she noticed the men standing closest to the stage. Bulgarians, of course, resplendent with their military poise and knitted brows.

On the left, Volkov, who had protested against wearing English robes; Vulchanov on the right, picking at his sleeve. Talev stood behind them, pursing his lips, and…

"I can't believe Viktor _Krum_ came to our wedding!"

"Don't gawp at him, Ron."

"Alright, alright!" interrupted Myles Blenkinsop, waving his hands like a Muggle traffic warden. "Pipe down everyone, please!"

As a hush crept over the crowd, Hermione's gaze drifted from Ron back to the Bulgarians. The stitching on their uniforms brought back memories of letter fragments still gathering dust under her bed. _"Thank you much for sweets. Vot is dentistry?" _

Their crimson and ivy green robes reminded her of faded pictures with glistening mountains and impenetrable forests. _"Vot are Ancient Runes? Your picture in Daily Prophet very nice…" _

"Tipped for a lifetime achievement award at the Ministry next year, no doubt," Ron whispered.

"Oh really?"

But as Senior Editor of the _Daily Prophet_, she knew that already. Never had Quidditch become more interesting than the day she secretly nominated Krum for Player of the Decade without understanding a single Seeker technique.

"Time to begin!" Myles said, chest swelling with importance. "Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards…"

Hermione took a deep breath, closing the door on every unfulfilled hope and promise.

"This is it…" Ron murmured with a giddy smile.

Yes. This was it.


	16. Chapter XVI: Paro

**DRABBLE PROMPT 016: PARO**

* * *

**_The feeling that everything you do is somehow always wrong—as if there's some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you._**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, prisoner number 12, serves a life sentence in the Slytherin dungeons on a June afternoon. Some call it formal education.

Like the other inmates, who shift from one foot to another, he cranes his neck into a fuming cauldron.

Jail Master Snape keeps the prisoners occupied with instructions, pacing the floor and clutching his wand like a baton. Today, he has demanded that his prisoners produce a _"purified distillation, only successful with steady hands."_ A knot forms in the pit of his stomach, causing him to miss several instructions.

No use appealing to other prisoners like Thomas and Finnigan. They only excel at creating spectacular accidents during the course of their sentencing. The notorious Potter might help if not for his standing too far away. As for the prison's brains— well, Neville should be so lucky.

Each time Jail Master Snape discovers the unmistakable hand of Granger in Neville's Potion results, a Slytherin hisses, _"Poor Neville: can't even wipe his own backside without Granger."_ Better to fail honourably than face such taunts.

With an obedient sigh, Neville tips a bottle of frogspawn into his cauldron, followed by a chopped adder. Nothing happens. Excellent: for once, he can follow instructions without a—

_—BANG!_

Flames spurt out of the cauldron and lick his desk, his robes, everything. Sound the warning bell! All prisoners leap into high alert, waiting for lockdown as Jail Master Snape swoops down like a vulture.

_Swoosh!_ A shower spray from Snape's wand subdues the fire.

"Do you simply have no _brains_, boy?"

"I— I—"

The Slytherins laugh, while the Gryffindor prisoners shuffle in silent mutiny.

"20 points from Gryffindor thanks to the most _incompetent_ student in living memory."

Neville Longbottom, prisoner number 12, blinks back tears as he returns to the instructions.

What can everyone else see that he cannot?


	17. Chapter XVII: Nighthawk

**DRABBLE PROMPT 017: NIGHTHAWK**

* * *

**_A recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, passing the time by quietly building a nest._**

* * *

_Rip, tear… Let me KILL!_

With a strangled gasp, Harry awoke. Night air, sweet as water in the desert, encased him from head to toe. Summoning his wand, he clambered out of bed and tiptoed to the window.

Monsters never died, even if you killed them. As he leaned on the window sill, wiping a sticky forehead, the Basilisk's phantom eyes still flashed at him.

All the other boys still slept, some snoring as they no doubt dreamt of breakfast, homework, and pranks. What a life. Meanwhile, he concealed a mountain of fear that neither Ron nor Hermione could climb.

Now that the heat of battle had worn off, he was left paralysed by an army of "What Ifs" and "What Abouts". Ginny never waking, Riddle laughing, the Basilisk's eyes…

Yet he had happier memories, too: Professor Dumbledore smiling as he stumbled, dirty and disoriented into the Headmaster's office. Pride, joy, admiration as the entire school welcomed Ginny back one more.

Hold on… Harry frowned. Why _had_ Professor Dumbledore smiled, though— particularly when Professor McGonagall had been on the verge of collapse? He of all people would have known the death sentence awaiting Harry deep beneath the Castle…

A bird swooped onto the window sill— not Hedwig, or even an owl.

"Hello," he said faintly, drawing back. It was a hawk, and something about its unblinking stare made Harry's legs turn to ice.

Nightmares were safer than reality.


End file.
